


oh the bright and hollow sky

by questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: M/M, because why write one story when you can procrastinate by writing another, ravager version of a meet-cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-04 18:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11561064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: See the thing is, even when Kraglin was saying, ”You protect him like none of the rest of us,” he knew that wasn’t completely true. There’s a reason bridge crew had stuck with him after Stakar’s exile, stayed with him through dry spells and good times alike. The simmering resentment in his chest for Yondu’s Quill-shaped soft spot might have finally boiled over, but in the back of his mind Kraglin still remembers the day he joined his captain's crew.





	1. i see the stars come out of the sky

**Author's Note:**

> or how Kraglin and Yondu met.

Kraglin can’t remember a time before he lived in the rotten-sweet stink of Knowhere. Since he was smaller than knee high he’s slopped around the gloppy fat deposits for shit people dropped and couldn’t be bothered to fish out, and gone to sleep tucked in alley rubbish heaps with hunger twisting tight in his belly. 

He thinks he must have been born somewhere else. Partly because he has a faint recollection of metal bars and being rocked by a skeletal faced woman who startled at every noise, but mostly because he can remember seeing space. Deep in the bowels of Knowhere no street rat’s seen the sky, but Kraglin has a blurry memory of being pressed up against a cold porthole, of pinpricks of light carpeting a vast hollowness as far as he could see. 

Every time he thinks about it, he feels an ache so strong and deep in his gut he wants to die if he can’t get back. No one down here lives long though when they’re yearning to be elsewhere, so Kraglin mostly tries not to think about it. 

 

When he meets Yondu Kraglin’s just out of teenagehood, all sharp teeth, survival instincts, and starvation-thin limbs, living on what he manages to snitch or rob from off-worlders. 

His days pass in a haze of stimbrew and shadows. He keeps his head down, and moves his nests daily to avoid setting off the big gangs. Although his life doesn’t allow for much of anything in the way of indulgences, he has a weakness for fancy little knives and at this point he’s filched more of them than he has clothes. 

It’s one of his favorites that he’s fingering idly when a sturdy blue spacer comes swaggering past his alley, looking like a prime target to be relieved of his worldly posessions. 

With a swift grab of his bony hand Kraglin catches the edge of the man’s jacket, using his surprise to swing him around into the alley while he uses his other hand to shove a knife up near the man’s guts. 

This, however, is where it all goes sideways.

The man gives a sharp whistle and before Kraglin can blink there’s a red-hot, flying arrow an inch away from burying itself in his cranium.

“Ya wanna rethink yerself there, boy?” the man drawls as he lifts one eyebrow, giving him a lazy grin that’s all teeth. 

Kraglin swallows shakily, and slowly lowers his knife.  The man quirks his lip, then says, “How ‘bout you go yer way, and I’ll go mine, yeah kid?”

Kraglin’s hackles raise a little at being called a kid, but nods stiffly, careful not to bump the arrow still casually twirling in front of him. He doesn’t trust for a moment that the man will actually let him go, but he hopes his acquiescence will convince the man to lower his guard enough that Kraglin’ll get a chance to skitter away. 

“Good boy,” the man says cheerfully, then with another sharp whistle his arrow returns to its sheath and he’s gone with a pat on Kraglin’s shoulder and a sweep of his long leather coat. 

Kraglin stares after him unsurely for a minute, knife still dangling from his hand. He doesn’t understand why the man had been so willing to just… let him go. Most often if one of the street kids got a little too cocky going after the wrong target, they ended up rotting in a vat of spinal fluid once someone cared enough to drag their stinking carcass off the street. 

Shaking himself out of his daze he retreats into a nearby sewage tunnel, to regroup somewhere far away from the whistling man and his magic arrow. 

 

The next morning, he runs into the man again. This time Kraglin’s dangling his feet idly over a rusted metal strut on the side of half-finished building, nursing a cup of lukewarm stimbrew, when he notices a flash of blue skin and red leather below him. 

The whistling man is squaring off with a couple members of one of the local gangs, still grinning, his floating arrow twisting around him in neon loops as he seems to negotiate something. The gangers’ postures become rapidly more tense, as the whistling man makes a grabby gesture with one hand, and shakes his head firmly when the leader seem to refuse to give him what he wants. 

Kraglin is craning his neck to see the action a little better when he suddenly notices someone slide out of the shadows a ways back behind the group. It’s another ganger and he’s swinging a knife in his hand, clearly preparing it let it fly at the blue man’s back. 

There’s a moment of hesitation, when Kraglin can’t decide whether or not to intervene. The last thing he wants is a target on his back.

But he remembers the feeling of that arrow sizzling an inch from his forehead, the way the man had grinned at him and just sauntered away. There isn’t a lot of loyalty bred in the streets of Knowhere, but Kraglin tells himself he doesn’t like owing any favors. 

He grabs one of the loose pipe pieces next to him and, carefully balancing it over the head of the ganger with the knife, he drops it. 

There’s a startled yelp as the pipe hits the ganger’s shoulder and knocks him to the side. He staggers to catch his balance, gaze darting around for the person that’d attacked him but the maneuver has already done what Kraglin hoped - the whistling man has spun around, put his back to the building wall and in a brilliant thread of light sends his arrow swirling through the air, leaving neat holes burned through the gangers’ heads. 

Kraglin is stealthily slinking down the back of the struts when the blue man saunters over to him. 

“H’llo there, kid,” he says, grinning toothily at Kraglin. “Looks like I had the right ‘a it, lettin’ ya go the other day.”

Kraglin freezes, one grimy foot still suspended above the ground as he debates whether it’s worth it to try and run.

“Relax, I was hopin’ ya could give me a little info, some tit for tat fer sparin’ yer scrappy hide seein’ as you seem to know the look ‘round here” the man says, with a coaxing waggle of his eyebrows. “I need ta meet the sort of folks that might wanna join up with m’ship’s crew. Drifters in need ‘a work and not too useless, ya get me?”

With a suspicious squint, Kraglin sidles completely down. 

“P’rhaps…” he says, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Name’s Yondu Udonta,” the man says. “Captain ‘a the Eclector. Well - will be once I gotta crew.” 

Kraglin blinks dumbly for a minute. He hasn’t ever been introduced to a captain of a whole ship before. His throat bobs with a nervous swallow, before he says, “Well, I - I c’n show you the bars what has the type 'a folks you need.”

He knows what kind of bars Yondu means - not ones that cater mostly to scrawny street trash and dead-eyed bums, ones for people with credits to spend and skills to hawk.

Kraglin’s never actually been in those sort of bars. He decides it’s prudent not to mention this.

With a self-satisfied little chuckle, Yondu gestures lazily in front of him. 

“Lead the way, kid.” 


	2. we'll ride through the city tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...aaaand only a few days later than I'd planned  >.>

Kraglin huddles in the corner of the bar as Yondu swaggers and charms his way around. He’s sweet-talked what looks like a few engineers, at least one nav, and a few of the bigger musclebound-types and is now flirting his way to free drinks from the bartender. 

Kraglin watches enviously as the bartender giggles at Yondu, giving a not-at-all subtle gaze at his ass as he leans forward. There’s something magnetic about the captain, something radiating off him that just pulls people in. Kraglin doesn’t have a strong leaning for any which gender, but he thinks his preferences might just now tilt heavily in favor of smirking blue space pirates far out of his league.

With a last wink for the bartender, Yondu grabs a drink in each hand and weaves back through the crowd to hand one to Kraglin.

“Good choice ‘a bar, kid,” Yondu crows, bumping their glasses together. 

“‘M’not a kid,” Kraglin says sullenly as he takes a gulp of liquor, coughing a little at the burn. 

 Yondu gives him a skeptical grin. “Sure, right.” 

“’S true, I’ve probably got at least two decades on me,” Kraglin protests, scowling indignantly. “Anyway, my name’s _Kraglin_ , not kid.”

“Whatever you say kid.” Yondu reaches up to ruffle his scraggly hair with a smirk.

Affronted, Kraglin hutches his shoulders and turns away. Yondu is clearly enjoying the chance to get under his skin, and he’s not going to give him any more satisfaction. 

“ Aw, wassa matter, kid? Gonna ignore me now?” Yondu needles, sidling to stand in front of him again. 

“Not. A. Kid.” Kraglin grates out. 

“Please, yer barely able to hold yer liquor” Yondu says with a mock scoff. “You even old enough to’ve got a little nookie-nookie yet?” 

His face flushing red as brake light, Kraglin goes mute. 

When Yondu smirks knowingly at him though, his temper overrides his good judgement and he gives in to the desire he’s had all evening. Without letting himself think twice, he grabs Yondu’s coat collar and leans down to mash their lips together. 

Yondu freezes in surprise for all of a split second before tilting his head hungrily into the kiss, nipping at Kraglin playfully. 

Within moments Kraglin’s body is vibrating with shock and eagerness as he gropes trembling hands at Yondu’s shoulders. He’s exchanged a few fumbles with other street rats, but he never thought someone like Yondu would do anything but punch him for taking liberties.

With one last hard nip, Yondu breaks the kiss. 

“Naw, you ain’t a kid,” he says with a soft chuckle. 

With that, he swallow the last of his drink and swaggers back out into the crowd, leaving a Kraglin standing frozen behind. 

He’s stopped in his tracks by one of the pastier muscles he’d just hired. 

“What’re you doing, lettin’ some Hraxian street trash like that all up on ya?” Muscles says, surrounded by his three equally disgruntled friends. 

Yondu looks taken aback. It wasn’t common that places cared too much about who you decided to spend a little time with, and he clearly wasn’t familiar with the hierarchy here deep in Knowhere - the one in which Kraglin occupied one of the bottommost rungs.

“We don’t hold wi’ his sorta kind here,” Muscles said obstreperously. “I think maybe you and yer boy should leave.”

Flicking his coat open to expose his gently glowing arrow, Yondu rests both hands on his hips.

“An’ I think yer a little too fussed about somethin’ what’s none ‘a yer business,” he says, eyes like flint. 

Muscles ignores him.

“Now, what I wanna know is why ya didn’t just put ‘im in his place?” he continues, cocking his head. “Street trash of his kindhere is nothin’,trafficked and abandoned ‘cause the seller couldn’t get no units for ‘em.”

Kraglin sees Yondu stiffen like he’s been shocked but he feels trapped in honey, whole world slowed to a crawl. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before on the street, but not like this, not in front of someone like Yondu.

“They all end up street junkies ’n ganger bitches, not worth a damn thing,” Muscles says. He seems to be enjoying the attention they’re attracting, pushing his chest out and raising his chin arrogantly. “Ain’t born worth a damn, and won’t die worth a damn.”

That’s all Kraglin can take. He explodes out from the wall, knives slipping into his hands as he lunges at Muscles. The man steps backwards in surprise, before pulling out his blaster with a laugh.

It isn’t the first time Kraglin’s brought a knife to a blaster fight and he ducks the first shot gracefully, arcing his right knife up towards the man’s chin while he brings the other around to slash at his blaster hand. 

The first knife splits Muscle’s throat like butter and he collapses, gurgling in shock. It isn’t more than a second though before one of his friends draws a blaster and sends a shot skimming across Kraglin’s side before he can dodge. 

Kraglin staggers back, drops one knife to clutch his bleeding side as he brings the other shakily in front of him.

A sturdy blue body steps suddenly forward, blocking his wavering vision.

“Now, see, I thought this was t’start of a beautiful relationship, here,” Yondu drawls. “But it looks like I might’a been wrong.”

He goes from jovial to deadly in one breath, voice hardening as he says mildly, “Don’t no one hurt my crew.”

With a sharp whistle, he sends his arrow neatly through all three of pasty muscles’ friends. There’s a moment where they stand stunned, before collapsing simultaneously to the ground.

The bar goes deathly silent. 

Kraglin’s mind whirrs as he tries to parse what’s happened. Crew? He doesn’t remember Yondu saying anything before about him being crew, but the words make him ache, make him think of his dreams of the stars.

“I, I don’t…” Kraglin starts, woozy from pain and confusion.

Yondu saunters towards the door before stopping to look over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. 

“Yer loyal and ya handle those knives mighty pretty, Krags,” he says. “You comin’ with?” 

Kraglin can feel the eyes of the crowd around them, feels their judgement closing in. He shakes his head fitfully. 

“I dunno, I just, I…”

It’s too much, he can’t make sense of it, so he gives in to his instincts and bolts past Yondu out the door.

 

 

Back curved against the sewage tunnel wall Kraglin sits, staring dully in front of him. One hand wraps around his middle, pressed against the sluggishly bleeding wound on his side. 

He thinks that he really should go and snitch a wound patch from somewhere. 

He doesn’t move.

With a groan his head thunks back against the wall as he closes his eyes and just… wants. His chest tightens with it so hard he can barely breathe, but he rides it out, trying to will himself into unconsciousness. 

The squishing of footsteps comes into hearing outside the tunnel entrance, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Even if the someone out there is wishing trouble, Kraglin doesn’t think he can make himself move. 

He startles when he feels the warm press of a hand on his shoulder. 

“Ya done sulkin’ boy?” 

Yondu. Of course it’s Yondu. He should have known someone like him wouldn’t leave well enough alone.

Kraglin swallows and doesn’t answer. 

There’s a heavy sigh and then he feels the hand leave and the rough of Yondu’s coat press up against his side. 

“Y’know, I’ve only been a free man for less ’n ten years,” Yondu says, voice carefully neutral. “I was a Kree battle slave for twenty.”

Kraglin opens his eyes. 

“We sang songs, ya know, ‘bout being out in space, but the only time’s we was there were in a cage. My old cap’n Stakar, he offered to drop me off planet-side somewhere but I couldn’t leave the stars, now I was finally standin’ up in ‘em free.”

Ducking his head as he feels his lips start to tremble, Kraglin hutches in on himself tighter. He feels Yondu push himself to his feet, and he looks up - to see him, just standing there, looking back. After a moment Yondu heaves out a sigh and crosses his arms. 

“I can see the need in you, same as me once,” he says quietly. “Now, ya can sit there, an’ let that want eat ya whole, but unless ya decide ta be less scared of what ya c'n loose than y’are of stayin’, than all you’ll ever be, is wantin’ ”

That’s all it takes. Eyes hardening and bony shoulders squaring, Kraglin wobbles to his feet. 

“I wanna be crew,” he says. “I wanna see the stars.” 

 

 

Years later, when Kraglin sits hollow-eyed against the bulkhead amid snoring mutineers, it’s not the sick lurch when he’d realized Yondu’d been shot in the implant that haunts him most (although, _fuck_ , does it), it’s remembering that moment that curdles deep in his stomach. 

See the thing is, even when Kraglin was saying, ”You protect him like none of the rest of us,” he knew that wasn’t completely true. There’s a reason bridge crew had stuck with him after Stakar’s exile, stayed with him through dry spells and good times alike.

The simmering resentment in his chest for Yondu’s Quill-shaped soft spot might have finally boiled over, but in the back of his mind Kraglin still remembers.

It’s that, and a thousand other moments like it, that lead him into the captain’s quarters after Taserface and the others have passed out from their drunken revelry. He doesn’t dare hope the captain will spare him the arrow once he’s delivered the fin, but he hopes he’ll let him say an apology, that Yondu’ll make it quick. 

Kraglin knows he’s done wrong to the man that picked him up, that brought him to roam a bright and hollow sea of stars. He hasn’t got a choice in his mind now, but to make it right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's that. Still have conflicted feelings about this, but here it is, it's been sulking on my hard drive long enough. Thank you for reading, and for all the lovely kudos and comments! ^_^


End file.
